The Fated
by fatalis-stille
Summary: [HPDM] Draco's been sent to Azkaban, and for unknown reasons, Harry's saved him. Things get complicated when he escapes, loses his memory and gets lost in the muggle world.


Disclaimer : I don't own the characters, only the plot.

Summary : HPDM  Draco's in Azkaban on charges of being a Deatheater, and Harry, for reasons unknown even to himself, has saved him. Things get worse when Draco hits his head and gets lost in the muggle world, with no memory of himself.

Warning : Slash darlings. Don't like it, then sucks for you.

The Fated   
Prologue

_Confused tongues, shrill voices crying   
Agonizing groans and words of violence   
The sound of hands beating wildly_

_Canto III, 25-27_

Draco knew the sun was setting. He didn't know how he knew since there were no windows in Azkaban to peer through, but his gut told him that it was sinking slowly down the horizon and signaling the coming of night.

When had he last seen the sun? Days passed by with unnatural speed in Azkaban, dragging on and on when one was intent on watching time pass, and melting into one another if one blinked in the other direction at the wrong moment. It seemed he'd been here for centuries already, but he could remember the exact moment he'd stepped into the prison like it was just yesterday.

Sudden intense cold that robbed him of his breath.

**They were near. **

He drew his knees up to his chest and shivered quietly as the rustle of cloth indicated the approach of his inhuman keepers and at the memories that would soon follow. They were probably coming to bring the garbage that passed for food here. The thought alone made him gag, but he'd lived on the same hard bread and sour cheese for quite some time now; another meal wouldn't be the death of him.

The memories might be though.

The cold was spreading through his bones now, freezing his blood as they came nearer to his cell. He could almost hear Lucius screaming now, as he always did whenever the Dementors were close, soon to be followed by his mother's quiet sobbing.

_"Stand up straight until the end. You're a Malfoy."_

_"I will, Father"_

_"Don't leave me Draco. You're all I have right left."_

_"Don't worry mother, I wont."_

And in the end he had failed them both, his mother dying of sorrow soon after his father was killed in the Final Battle and when he was taken to Azkaban for being one of Voldemort's followers. He remembered her demanding hysterically that she be allowed to follow him, but since surprisingly nobody could find anything to accuse her with, she was prohibited to even accompany him to the gates of the prison.

Shudder. His heart contracted painfully in his chest, and he felt it would be an appropriate time to shed a few tears for the family that he once had and loved. There were none left for him to cry though, and all he could do was shiver noiselessly on his hard bed in place of the tears that he would not fall.

The mind numbing presence of the Dementor suddenly paused right in front of his cell, taking its own sweet time to disable the locks on the door. The cold had escalated now to a temperature that was close to freezing, and Draco felt that if he looked hard enough, he'd see mist forming from his breath.

Creaking of a door that was seldom opened and a figure stepped into the room and cast his shadow on the wall. With the sound of his father's dying scream still echoing in his ears, he dazedly looked up to see who was the arrogant fuck who came to sneer at him in his current pathetic state.

Viridian green eyes readily met his gaze.

For a moment, he was too shocked to feel anything. But that didn't last for long. Anger uncurled in his stomach like a snake woken from its sleep unduly, the mental hiss of his own furiousness singeing his veins.

So if it wasn't the Hero of The War, Harry James Potter.

He already felt nauseated, and he hadn't even had dinner yet.

* * *

When his arch rival's gray eyes had stared up at him, he'd mentally braced himself to face the arrogant prick he'd known at Hogwarts, the blond boy he'd constantly gone to detention with. He'd prepared the front he was going to use, the words that were to come from his mouth, the small gestures that his hands would do. 

He had not expected the blank, emotionless stare that had greeted him from the blinding darkness.

"Potter..."

The words were said like a bunch of icicles falling from the ceiling, cracked in places they shouldn't have been.

Screw the façade. It wasn't going to work now.

"Malfoy..." He said it curtly, as he would have years before.

The eyes glinted eerily at him, almost disembodied in the cell, the color of moonstone diamonds.

"Come to gloat?" The way he said it, it was like he was reaffirming a statement, not asking a question. No malice in his voice, just contempt barely masked behind a thin veil of feigned curiosity.

"No. I've come to get you out."

Silence. And then hoarse, dry chuckling that didn't sound much different from the one he'd heard Voldemort use once.

"Have you really, Potter?" A set of pearly white teeth set in a parody of a smirk stretched itself on Draco's face as the other contemplated the idea. "Aren't content with all the souls you've saved? Now you have to have me indebted to you as well?"

"You know it's not like that."

The voice dropped even more in temperature and the retort came out in an angry, violent hiss. "That's right. I know nothing. And now you're saving me from my own demise because it's what you do best. FUCK OFF POTTER. I don't need your misguided concern or your pity." The Malfoy arrogance that was world renown began to shine through slightly from beneath all the emptiness he had formerly seen, but there was also the underlying current of something much darker soared along with it.

This Draco was different. More volatile, more unpredictable, and somehow, a lot more fragile.

"So are you telling me you're not going to come out of this prison with me willingly?"

He saw the doubt float on those silver irises for a moment, only to be crushed and set firmly aside by pride.

Stupid git.

"No way in hell." Was the stinging retort.

"Have it you're way then."

He muttered a small handy spell he'd learned in the war, and a few seconds later. Draco slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Harry rubbed his temple, anticipating the already painful migraine thumping dully in the background. Well, that went certainly could have gone better. Now to devise a way to get him quietly out of here...

* * *

He'd woken to find himself staring at a ceiling he'd never seen before and on a bed he was sure he had never slept in ever in his life.

What the fuck...?!?!? What the bloody hell's happening?!?!?

Thoughts tumbled around his head; crashing into each other and creating a cacophony inside his mind that made all coherent thoughts disappear, except for one, which was not entirely sane either.

Escape.

His mouth was dry, he knew his eyes were wide as he searched for an opening in the room.

His eyes alighted on a window. Yes, bloody yes! He stumbled out of the bed clothed in only a pair of sleeping pants and made his way to the sill, his pale arms clutching the wooden sides like life support. Almost breaking the thing wide open, he jumped out and ran as if hell's hounds were on his heels.

He ran from fear, from confusion, ran from his own memories and unwittingly, ran from salvation. The lack of any proper food during his stay at Azkaban made his vision swim, and the lack of any proper exercise made his legs weak. The combination proved very dangerous for most people, and unluckily for him, he was no exception.

His foot twisted on a slippery stone, and his head banged onto another one. Needless to say, consciousness left him as quickly as he'd found it, and his limp body was carried by swiftly by the river.

Back at the house that he'd escaped from, Harry was turning the knob to his room, carrying a bowl of soup and some bread. Hermione had talked his ear off when she'd heard about what he'd done, swearing on Merlin's dress robes that she'd have his head mounted on her fireplace if charges were pressed against him or if he and Malfoy started another War. After promising her that he wouldn't do anything stupid, he put the phone down and decided to care for his new charge. Though the moment he entered the guest room, he nearly dropped the said things when he saw the carelessly cast aside blankets, the open window, and the lack of a pale blonde boy on the bed. It didn't take a genius to know what had occurred there.

Hermione was going to HANG him.

* * *

Reviews darlings? 


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